Family
by Alone in the Desert
Summary: An itinerant mage returns to Summersea after a long absence and learns how to deal with the consequences of her actions. Standalone, femmeslash


Family

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Disclaimer: All characters and locations herein are the property of Tamora Pierce. Plot and actual written words owned by me. Written for the Dancing Dove's Second SFF Challenge.

The attendant who took her cloak and kit was terribly polite, really. Not that it fooled Evvy; she knew perfectly well that the boy and his colleagues would be whispering about her scandalously late arrival just as soon as she turned her back. Gossip was just another thing that happened, sometimes, like getting caught in a thunderstorm or ripping your favorite tunic. Some small part of her took a spiteful pleasure in knowing she was spoken about unfavorably in polite society, in scoffing at the well-bred contempt and considering herself above it.

Yet she knew quite well that this time was different, as she caught hushed, prying whispers and would-be casual glances. For all the dozen complaints that such refined folk had ever had against her, somehow that hadn't been enough and she had managed to pile on still more of her own volition. As though the crimes of birth, childhood, profession and nature did not set her quite so far apart as she could be, she'd gone off and returned to find more unfavorable attention than ever cast her way.

Determined to enjoy her first official occasion since returning to Summersea several weeks ago, Evvy forced unwholesome thoughts out of her mind. Instead she helped herself to a drink and took to wandering the hall, greeting old acquaintances. She was glad to be back, relieved, even, and she clung to that feeling of gladness. It was more comfortable that her previous thoughts, dark ones that led her down alleyways she could live without contemplating. She had been gone but she was back, now, and that ought to be enough.

Just as she was gaining her comfort, losing her usual uneasiness in such situations, color flared not far to her right, catching her eye. Evvy turned, her eyes following the blaze of blue, sparked by memory and disobedient. It was a lady dressed in silk, walking past her leaning on the arm of an elderly baron, both of them talking with their foreheads creased. As the captive of her treacherous eyes, she followed the two quietly, evading notice, watching without word. Emotion, unnamed, writhed inside her chest.

Nonchalance, realized Evvy quickly, was a thing of the past. She'd been silly today, from the moment she received her invitation to the moment she stepped through the Laurel Ballroom's winged doors. Leaving her drink on the tray of a passing servant, Evvy escaped to the edges of the room, finding herself a quiet niche to sit down it. Mechanically, her hands smoothed the wine-colored dress she wore, the skirts that fell down her thighs, the bodice that curved with her rounding belly.

She'd been stupid. Stupid to leave, stupid to come back and most of all stupid to think she could get away with either of these things. Though she had crossed the room to avoid her in a sudden flash of insight, the trailing blue hems were in her mind still. Almost she could see her figure, still slight as she'd been, flitting among the many guests and greeting each one with just the appropriate amount of attention, the exact regard of protocol. With the natural grace of one born into privilege. And a mad urge came over Evvy to see her again, to hear what she had to say, though she knew she had no right.

Evvy Dingzai had not been seen in Summersea social circles for nearly five years. Like all mages she loved to travel and was always seeking out a better opportunity for either study or work. No one could begrudge mages frequent or even extended absence because such was the nature of their profession. Evvy's case, however, was rather unusual; she had not left any address when she departed Summersea, and had sent very few letters. Upon her recent arrival she had not, as most travelers would, contacted old friends to inform them of her returns. She'd made no polite calls, but only taken a room at a city inn. Still her work brought her to market and the word of her return must have spread. She supposed that was how the invitation to a ball in honor of Duke Frantsen's birthday came to be sent to her. The decision to attend she ascribed to some blind hope.

The same blind hope struggled with her plummeting guilt for the rest of the evening. Her whole body became a battlefield between the two, with her feet switching sides most often, wandering the hall restlessly. She wished she hadn't abandoned her drink as her throat dried and constricted. Only two or three people were between them, and the Duke, who was looking down at his conversation partner as he elaborated on something with exaggerated gestures. Beside him, Lady Sandrilene nodded at his words, her face solemn and thoughtful.

The blind hope flared again, and Evvy felt herself unable to tear her eyes away from the two speakers. Her mind churned, wondering if Sandry looked well and whether there were shadows under her eyes that she couldn't see from so far away. She did not resemble any Sandry that Evvy had ever seen enjoying a conversation, and she recalled Sandry saying that she and her cousin did not get on very well. Maybe the strain of serving a Duke she didn't like was making her ill. Maybe the Duke was refusing her involvement in Emelan politics, or disregarding her advice. Maybe she ought to go up to her, ask her if she's well, if she needs any help.

Maybe Sandry had long ago stopped waiting for Evvy to return; that's probably how Evvy would have felt in her place. Feeling ridiculous, she turned and stepped away, looking for a new drink and a new niche to hide in. If she were lucky, she would be able to restrain herself from walking up to Sandry until the occasion dispersed. If she were wise, she would leave the citadel now. Wisdom, though, seemed a lost cause; she would not have come tonight at all if it wasn't.

In the end, though, the choice was taken from her hands. The look in Sandry's eyes as she caught sight of her was filled with pain that was only hidden by a huge, overwhelming shock. Her face twisted, unreadable, then became set in a cold mask of disbelief and disgust. Evvy froze momentarily as Sandry walked up to her, took her arm and led her to a quiet corner, hissing, "What are you doing here?"

"Sandry," murmured Evvy.

The other glared at her.

"I came back," said Evvy simply.

"No!" said Sandry, her voice low but hoarse with anger. "No, you're not here!"

"I _am_, Sandry, I--"

"Go away, Evvy! Leave!"

With that, she turned and walked away, and though Evvy tried to call out her name, her voice caught in her tight throat. Instead she gave up and just watched Sandry's figure disappearing among the throngs of people, walking away from her. Not even her stupid, blind hope could mistake her reaction; she wasn't about to welcome her back with a kiss, asking where she'd gone and what she'd seen, not when she wouldn't even acknowledge that she was there, or wait to listen for her apology.

Very few guests remained to be seen off when the Duke's hostess let out a small sigh. Her companion, a noble of high standing who'd been in the confidence of her late uncle, when he'd been duke, glanced at her sharply.

"You ought not to let whatever it is strain you thus, my lady," he said, his kind voice belying the rigidity of his gestures.

Lady Sandry smiled. "Erdo, you may always be relied on for wonderful advice that is impossible to follow," she said.

"Come, now," said the graying baron, "it cannot be as dire as all that. What troubles you? The new officers?"

Sandry shook her head. "They seem a fine lot," she said, feeling the pointlessness of her words. "Not that it's really my concern, but I've always taken an interest in the harriers and the new Lord Provost doesn't seem to mind, much."

"Has that horrible man been --"

"You really ought not to speak of Duke Frantsen like that," interjected Sandry softly.

"Hmmph!" was Baron Erdogun's only reply. He was about to continue speaking his mind about his right to speak his mind about the Duke of Emelan, when he noticed the change that came over the face of the young woman beside him. Quickly he looked up to the source for this tight-lipped, pale-faced apparition.

The girl had her arms crossed over her pregnant belly and her dark eyes were locked on Sandry's. "We need to talk."

"Not now, Evvy!" snapped Sandry. "I'm busy."

"You don't _look_ busy," said the girl, throwing a glance around the empty hall.

"Well, maybe I just don't want to talk to you," retorted Sandry. "Maybe I've said all that I have to say."

"I haven't, though," said Evvy, soft-voiced.

The baron leaned in to whisper into Sandry's ear. "Is this what is troubling you, my lady? If it is, consider handling the problem right now. I will see to the last of our guests."

Sandry gave her head a small shake, but finally met Evvy's eyes again. "Very well," she said. "Make it short."

She led the other woman to a ground floor study fitted with richly patterned cloths and lined with maps of the city. Evvy had no doubt that the room was the lady's office at the citadel, aside from the ones adjoining her library and workroom in the fabled three-story house in Emerald Triangle. She didn't fail to notice that Sandry had chosen a chair, rather than a couch, to sit on, and settled herself opposite from her.

"I know you're angry," was the first thing she said.

"_Angry_? Curse it, Evvy, of _course_ I'm angry!" hissed Sandry. "You vanished without a trace! You never wrote to me -- not once -- while you were away. What was I to think?"

Evvy was silent, hanging her head.

"That you had left because of _me_," said Sandry, answering her own question. "That you had vanished so suddenly to get away from _me_, told no one where you were going so that _I_ could not find you, avoided writing for fear that _I_ might reply. That it was me you were trying to leave behind!"

"That I was afraid," said Evvy quietly, looking at her hands.

Sandry buried her head in her hands with a heavy sigh. "Afraid of me?"

Was Evvy sniffing? "No, afraid of _us_. Afraid of what it all meant."

"So that's why you left," said Sandry tonelessly, looking up.

Evvy nodded, and quiet fell upon the office room.

"Did you miss me?" Sandry asked suddenly.

"I…" she faltered.

"Did you miss me, I said, over the last few years?" asked Sandry again, her voice reverberating and cold. "Did you miss me especially about five months ago?" Her eyes were rock-hard with fury.

"I _did_ miss you!" replied Evvy hotly, her hand springing to her belly.

"Let me guess," said Sandry, colder than ever, "you just didn't know how to express your utmost yearning."

"You're not giving me a chance to explain myself, Sandry," objected Evvy.

"That's because there's nothing to explain. Everything is _very_ clear to me," said Sandry, biting off every word.

"I always planned to come back, you know," said Evvy, close to tears. "I meant to come back when I knew how I felt!"

"Did you _plan_ to come back with child, or was that just an accident?" hissed Sandry.

Evvy hung her head.

"Well?" asked Sandry again.

"No," admitted Evvy. "Of course not. But…"

"But now that you've got one, you want me to help you mother it?" asked Sandry sarcastically, leaning back in her chair and crossing one leg over the other.

When Evvy did not answer, she hastily uncrossed her legs and leaned forward to examine the younger woman's tear-streaked face.

"Oh, you _cannot_ be serious!"

Evvy sniffed wordlessly.

"No, Evvy," said Sandry flatly, furiously. "Not after everything you've put me through. Not after I spent the better part of a _year_ trying to find out where you are, trying to send you a letter. Not after you came back and didn't even send word, and _certainly_ not after showing up -- uninvited -- a _full three months_ after your return!" She had risen half to her feet in anger.

"I can't think of anyone I know that would make a better mother than you," said Evvy softly.

Sandry plopped back down on her chair, disgusted. "Is that supposed to be an apology?"

"I'm sorry," said Evvy almost inaudibly, and began crying in earnest.

A pause stretched between them, thin and taut and full of Evvy's narrow, quietly shaking shoulders and Sandry's icy, uncompromising silence.

"Did you really mean to come back?" asked Sandry after a few minutes.

Evvy nodded, wiping one tear-streaked cheek with the back of her hand. She scrabbled for her mage's kit and pulled out a large, rolled-up leather binder full of assorted papers. Sandry recognized the style of the drawings and the small, loose, scrawling handwriting. Her eyes caught inadvertently on a sheet that Evvy was pulling from the very back of the binder and handing to her.

"For the floor of your entrance hall," she said thickly.

Despite herself, Sandry examined the mosaic plans. The scribbled notes and mason's marks regarding stone types and cuts were lost on her, but for the slate of the curling arabesques and the large granite figure that dominated the heart of the hexagonal design. The figure looked like one of those intricate Zhanzah characters that were prominent in Evvy's designs. Sandry had the distinct feeling that to ask about the design would be admitting some sort of defeat to Evvy's endearment tactics. She decided to gamble on one question. Now it all hung on Evvy's answer.

"What does this mean?" she asked, pointing to the character.

Evvy smiled through a fresh stream of tears. "Family," she said softly.

Sandry's hand flew to cover her mouth and she sighed deeply, shakily.


End file.
